


Constructive Criticism

by Magicofisis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Erotica, M/M, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-23
Updated: 2006-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-27 18:23:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10814304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magicofisis/pseuds/Magicofisis
Summary: Neville finds an illustrator for his stories who is able to teach him a thing or two about writing.





	Constructive Criticism

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Written for [](http://nopejr.livejournal.com/profile)[**nopejr**](http://nopejr.livejournal.com/) for [](http://community.livejournal.com/nevillosity/profile)[**nevillosity**](http://community.livejournal.com/nevillosity/)'s Late Bloomer Ficathon 2. [](http://nopejr.livejournal.com/profile)[**nopejr**](http://nopejr.livejournal.com/) requested: "Tell me something about Neville I didn't know." Hope this works! Many thanks to the lightning-quick beta efforts of [](http://shocolate.livejournal.com/profile)[**shocolate**](http://shocolate.livejournal.com/) and [](http://florahart.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://florahart.livejournal.com/)**florahart**. They win at life! *smooches*

  


* * *

Neville liked to think that he had a secret life that was full of adventure, excitement and romance. As a practical matter, this life existed solely in his imagination and it was secret only to the extent that the parchments on which he recorded it were kept under lock and key. He knew that people thought he was stupid and forgetful, but that wasn’t entirely true. It’s just that his brain became overwhelmed with the sheer volume of ideas he had, and there simply wasn’t enough room left over to remember mundane facts such as when his Charms homework was due.

Neville was an author.

Gran didn’t approve of writing, not even as a hobby. She thought it was impractical to spend so much time in a pursuit that didn’t accomplish anything. She’d even gone so far as to sack the tutor who had taught Neville about writing in the first place, in hopes that Neville would realize that nothing good would come of it. It didn’t really matter to Neville that he wouldn’t be able to share his excitement over his stories with Gran, though; she rarely did anything but criticize him anyway, and he thought they were pretty good.

By the time he arrived at Hogwarts as a first year, writing had evolved from a hobby to a refuge. Gran was overprotective and wouldn’t let him play with other kids outside of her sight, so he didn’t have many friends at home. Because of this, he was sorely lacking the social skills required to make friends and he always felt ill at ease around his classmates. The other boys in his dorm were friendly enough, but it was obvious that Harry and Ron were going to be mates and Dean got on well with Seamus. Neville had…Trevor. He was still lonely even with constant companionship, so he did what had always worked: he retreated into his imaginary world.

Neville was fifteen when he sent off his first story to _Wiz Kid Magazine_ using the pseudonym, Ned Longfellow. Even though he’d spent hours drafting and editing, he was certain it would be returned to him with a cold form letter saying “thanks, but no thanks”. The morning the post owl dumped a letter addressed to Ned Longfellow in his orange juice, Neville nearly died of shock. The letter was to inform him that his story had been selected for the April edition, and could he please send some biographical information to include in the introduction.

Letters sent to the magazine about his story were forwarded on to him, and they were overwhelmingly positive. He still might be shite at Transfiguration, and he couldn’t remember the names of Jupiter’s moons to save his life, but he could entertain people with his writing.

Still, he told no one. What if that one story had been a fluke? Maybe he was only capable of one good idea, and he’d used it up already. He should try to get one more published to see if he could really believe the compliments people had written about his story.

Neville’s second story was rejected by _Wiz Kid_ on the grounds that its theme was too creepy for the magazine’s younger readership, but he was invited to submit additional work of a lighter nature. Not to be discouraged, he set aside the dark story and wrote a fluffy little feel-good piece about a boy who had never been allowed to play Quidditch winning the big match for his school team when he was called in as an emergency replacement Seeker. _Wiz Kid_ sent an owl almost immediately, informing him that his story would be published its November issue.

Neville had no time to bask in his success, though. Before he knew it, O.W.L.s were upon them, and the ink had hardly dried on his History of Magic exam before he found himself caught up in the drama that led to him fighting Death Eaters along side Harry at the Ministry of Magic. It was a horrifying and sobering experience, and yet, when the storyteller in Neville thought about it later, he knew it would make an excellent tale after enough time had passed.

Once he was home for the summer holidays, Gran would hardly let him out of the house for fear of You-Know-Who. Neville had made the mistake of telling her what had happened at the Ministry. Although she said she was proud of him (for the first time that he could remember), there was no way she’d allow Neville to be in a position where he had to defend himself again. His only ventures outside that summer were his regular visits to St. Mungo’s to see his mum and dad.

Trapped inside, and with little else to do, Neville conceived of an epic tale featuring a spunky little heroine called Harriet Wheeler. In his mind, Harriet was a combination of Hermione Granger’s brains and compassion and Ginny Weasley’s wit and temperament. Harriet was bold, brave, witty and smart – all the things that Neville knew Gran wanted _him_ to be – and her adventures included such things as saving little kids from werewolves, battling ferocious dark creatures, and protecting the small and meek from arrogant bullies. The tale was bigger than any idea he’d ever had before and he fancied himself a sort of modern day Dickens, with people anxiously awaiting the next installment of his story every month. He laughed at this absurdity, yet he never completely let the idea die.

As soon as he got back to Hogwarts, he used a school owl to send off his first Harriet Wheeler story to _Wiz Kid_ , with a promise of up to eight more installments if they liked it. Neville didn’t know why he was so nervous about it; even if _Wiz Kid_ didn’t want the series, they’d been positive about his work in general, and if they rejected him, at least they’d be kind about it.

The acceptance letter came on the same day that at least half of his Gryffindor housemates were trying out for the Quidditch team. Neville was one of the few that stayed behind – flying had never been his thing. He was overjoyed by his news, yet wistful that he couldn’t share it with anyone. Not that he was sure who he’d tell – Hermione, maybe, or Harry. But as they’d both gone down to the pitch, Neville decided instead to check on his plants in Greenhouse 3. It would be deserted on a Saturday morning, giving him plenty of time to plot out Harriet’s next big adventure.

When Neville finally trudged back to the castle, he found Dean and Seamus lying on their beds looking thoroughly demoralized. He didn’t even have to ask what happened – it was clear that neither of them made the team.

“Try-outs done, then?” said Neville tentatively.

Seamus said nothing, but gave a loud grunt. “Yeah,” answered Dean, “Ginny made the team again, but we didn’t. And I flew really well, too.”

Neville walked up close to Dean’s bed. “Well, then, Gryffindor will have a really good chance this year. Harry’s fair-minded and he likes you; I don’t think he’d have picked someone else if they did worse than you.”

“Ew, no offense, Neville, but you smell like shit. What have you been doing?”

Neville blushed, as he backed away. “I’ve been fertilizing plants with, er, shit. Sorry. I’ll go take a shower.” He fished through his trunk for some clean clothes.

“Damn it!” cursed Dean, who was rifling through his own things. “Where the hell is my parchment?”

“I have an extra one in my trunk if you need it,” called Neville as he walked out the door to the showers. “Help yourself.”

When he returned to the dormitory, Dean was alone in the room, engrossed in reading a roll of parchment. “Where’s Seamus?” asked Neville.

“He went off to sulk in the common room. Neville?” Neville turned to face him. “I… Well, I think I helped myself to the wrong parchment.”

Neville draped his towel over his shoulders and moved over to Dean’s bed to look. He recognized the untidy scrawl as his own and quickly perused the page. The bottom dropped out of his stomach. “Where did you get that?” he asked, a quaver in his voice.

“You said you had some extra parchment in your trunk, so I looked and found this. Neville, it’s fantastic!”

Neville started to shake. He hadn’t intended to share these stories with his mates just yet. Especially not this one, which was still quite rough. “I always keep them locked up, though.” Neville’s eyes narrowed accusingly. “Were you going through my stuff?”

Dean shook his head. “I swear I wasn’t. This roll was just lying there, and I took it, thinking it was blank. I didn’t mean to pry. I’m sorry.”

Neville snatched the parchment from him and wandered back to his bed, wondering whether he’d now be the laughing stock of the dormitory because he wrote stupid stories for kids. He didn’t dare look at Dean, and refused to acknowledge his apology.

“For what it’s worth, Neville,” said Dean quietly, “I thought it was great. Definitely good enough to be published. You should feel proud of it, not embarrassed.”

Neville had always liked Dean, and he believed him to be truthful and very diplomatic. If he was inclined to like Neville’s stories, perhaps he could confess the extent of his hobby.

“I _have_ been published – a couple of times.”

Dean stared at him in amazement. “Really? But why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t want everyone taking the piss,” he said. He dug through his trunk and pulled out the dog-eared copy of _Wiz Kid_ in which his Quidditch story had been published. He flipped to the page and handed it to Dean.

“Ned Longfellow. _You’re_ Ned Longfellow? I’ve read this before.” He flipped to the front cover of the magazine. “Seamus gets this magazine, and I always read them when he’s done. Wow – Neville, I had no idea.”

His confidence boosted, he steeled himself to ask, “What did you think of that story you just read? It’s a little rough yet.”

“I like Harriet – she reminds me of Ginny,” Dean answered with a smile.

“She’s supposed to. She’s sort of modeled after Ginny and Hermione Granger. I’m writing a whole series. I’ve just had an owl today saying that they’ll take as many installments as I’m willing to write.”

“Neville, that’s fantastic, mate! Do you have any other ones I can read?”

“Only one other,” Neville replied.

Before he could find the parchment with his first Harriet Wheeler story, Seamus had burst into the dormitory shouting to Dean that Ginny was mad as a hornet because he hadn’t met her in the Common Room like he said he would.

“Sorry, Nev. Gotta keep the little woman happy.” Dean sat on the bed to tie his trainers.

“It’s all right. Just don’t tell anyone else, okay?” He sighed as Dean nodded and raced out of the room.

~*~*~

With Ginny off at Quidditch practice, Dean was spending much more time in the dormitory. He’d finally read Neville’s first Harriet Wheeler story and was mad for it. Neville was flabbergasted one day when he came back from Herbology to find Dean in the common room putting the finishing touches on an illustration of Harriet facing off against a werewolf.

“Oh my God, Dean, this is fantastic!” gushed Neville. He bent down to get a closer look. “You’ve made Harriet look exactly the way I’ve pictured her in my head. Except maybe for the hair color. I was thinking auburn red rather than Weasley red.”

Dean smirked. “Sorry, I have this thing for a certain redhead.”

“It’s not that I don’t like it – it’s perfect, actually. Fiery red hair kind of suits her, especially when you’ve got it all bushy like that.”

Dean quickly surveyed the room and found it empty. “The hair’s inspired by Hermione’s.” He leaned over the drawing one more time and carefully examined the face. “One… more… thing…” With an expression of utmost concentration, he carefully drew three freckles on her nose.

“Those look familiar like that, but they’re not Ginny’s,” said Neville, puzzled.

“Seamus’s,” said Dean. “I think they’re cute.”

Neville smiled. “It would be so cool if _Wiz Kid_ could publish this with my story. What would you think about sending it them to see if they will?” He shot Dean a pleading look.

“Oh, I don’t know, Nev,” said Dean, shaking his head. “I’m not all that good an artist, and I didn’t even draw this on proper canvas.”

“I think you’re a wonderful artist. But more important, you’ve managed to capture Harriet Wheeler perfectly. Come on – let’s just try it. The worst that could happen is they turn it down. And their rejection letters are very polite.”

Dean shrugged. “All right.”

The portrait hole opened and Ginny stumbled in, looking windblown and exhausted. Dean rolled up the picture and handed it to Neville. “Go ahead and send it if you like. I’ve got to see about getting a date in Hogsmeade tomorrow.” He wandered off to meet Ginny, and Neville watched longingly as they kissed.

~*~*~

As Neville had hoped, _Wiz Kid Magazine_ was only too happy to publish Dean’s illustration with his story, and they invited him to submit illustrations with ‘Ned’s’ other stories as well. Unfortunately, Dean now had almost no free time since he’d been selected to replace Katie Bell on the Gryffindor Quidditch team after her mysterious mishap in Hogsmeade. He’d caught up with the stories that Neville had written over the Christmas holidays, but Neville hadn’t seen him drawing anything since the start of the new term.

Needing to write while his ideas were still fresh in his mind, Neville continued to pen story after story, until by early April, he’d finished all the adventures to which he’d committed. Dean still hadn’t produced an illustration since the winter holidays.

One morning, an owl brought Neville a letter from a _Wiz Kid_ editor, reminding him that the deadline for publication in the September issue was right around the corner, and he hadn’t seen a Harriet Wheeler story yet. Neville searched the breakfast table for Dean, but didn’t find him. His gaze drifted across the Great Hall and eventually spotted Dean and Ginny, nearly hidden in a corner having a heated discussion. Neither of them appeared to be very happy.

Neville sighed. It didn’t seem right to bother Dean when his relationship with Ginny was obviously on the rocks. He knew that Dean was excited about getting his artwork published, but perhaps Neville would have to send his next story without an illustration. Dean had had months to work on it, so it must not be that important to him.

When Neville climbed through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room, he was surprised to see Dean sitting at one of the tables with his large sketchpad out. Dean had made a pretty good start on the next portrait of Harriet Wheeler, except…

“Er, Dean? Is that supposed to be Harriet?” Neville asked quietly as he came up behind him.

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, it’s just that she looks an awful lot like Ginny, and you’ve drawn fangs on her.”

“Wha—? Oh.” Dean put his hand across his forehead. “Sorry, Nev. I guess my mind wasn’t really on Harriet after all.”

“It’s all right.” Neville hesitated before continuing, “So things must not be too great between you and Ginny. She didn’t seem too happy at breakfast either.”

Neville watched as Dean magically erased the fangs that he’d drawn on Harriet. He should have been more concerned for Dean, but now he had the image of Harriet Wheeler the vampire in his head, and it was distracting him.

“We’ll be all right. She’s just anxious about O.W.L.s. Can’t say I blame her.”

Neville handed Dean the letter he’d received from _Wiz Kid_. “Do you think you’ll finish this illustration before the deadline? Maybe I should I send my story without one.”

Dean’s eyes widened with shock. “No! I don’t have lessons until this afternoon, so I’ll finish up this picture this morning, and work on the other ones this week. I promise.”

Neville was skeptical as he strode off to Herbology, but he needn’t have worried. After lunch, he found Dean’s latest illustration waiting for him on his bed. It was brilliant, and it no longer bore any resemblance to a vampire.

~*~*~

The dormitory was empty when Neville returned from Charms. He knew Dean, Harry and Ron were headed to Quidditch practice; Seamus must have gone to the library. As he went to stow his book bag, he noticed the drawing tablet sitting on Dean’s bed. Dean had promised him three more illustrations by the end of the week, and Neville was pleased that he appeared to be hard at work.

Neville’s curiosity got the better of him. “He won’t mind if I take a peek,” he muttered to himself. He sat on Dean’s bed and began flipping through the pages.

His jaw dropped as he realized that there wasn’t a single illustration of Harriet Wheeler in this tablet. They were pictures of men and women, naked, and um, doing stuff. He turned a few more pages. Merlin – there was a picture of two boys… God! Neville’s heart nearly stopped as he realized that there was a whole series of pictures of a dark-skinned boy – God! – giving a blow job to a light-skinned boy. The faces were nondescript, so he couldn’t tell whether the drawings were depicting Dean and someone he knew or simply generic men, um, having sex.

There were dozens of drawings in the tablet. Only about ten of them were heterosexual. The rest of the pictures were individual naked men, posing or wanking, or very erotic depictions of two men going at it. Neville’s cock was impossibly hard as he flipped through page after page of erotic drawings. By the time he got to the last one, he nearly creamed his jeans; there was the black boy again being fucked by the white boy while giving a blow job to another white boy.

Neville unzipped his trousers and reached a hand inside. It only took him about ten strokes before he was coming all over his hand as he stared at the picture. When he realized he’d just tossed off to Dean’s artwork, he quickly cleaned himself up and tried to put the tablet back exactly the way he found it.

Neville had been planning to work on another Harriet Wheeler story, but he was unable to concentrate. His mind kept wandering back to those pictures. He suddenly felt very childish. His creative energy was all being poured into the writing of stories for little kids, while Dean had definitely found a more adult way to express his art. What must Dean think of Neville and his quaint little stories for kids, while he was off drawing pictures of wild sex orgies?

After about twenty minutes of lying on his bed unable to think of anything else, Neville went over to look at Dean’s sketchpad again. He opened it up to the picture of the blow job. As he stared at it, he got an idea. Just as Dean had surprised him by drawing him an illustration of Harriet Wheeler, he could surprise Dean by writing him a story to describe this drawing. That way, he could prove to Dean that he wasn’t some naïve little boy.

The fact that his only date had been at age fourteen when he took Ginny Weasley to the Yule Ball didn’t seem to dissuade him from the task. He wanked often enough; he knew what he was talking about.

After the drawing was clearly etched in his mind, Neville sat down to write. He found it was much harder to write about sex than he thought it would be. He could sort of see in his mind’s eye what he wanted the boys to do, but it was hard to describe exactly which limb went where.

It took Neville nearly a week to finish the story. He kept having to sneak off to the bathroom to wank because it was harder to describe the feeling when he wasn’t excited. When it was done to his satisfaction, he simply had to wait for the right moment to present it to Dean.

His opportunity came several days later. Dean and Ginny had split up, and Dean had taken to disappearing with Seamus for long periods of time. Seeing her kiss Harry after the final Quidditch match had devastated him. He would stay on his bed, drawing, even though the weather was perfectly beautiful. Neville tried to peek at the pictures, but Dean hid them from him. Neville was quite sure they were erotic ones.

One gorgeous afternoon, Dean was alone in the dormitory and Neville had just passed Harry, Ron and Seamus lounging in the sunshine as he’d walked back from the greenhouses. It seemed the perfect time to show his story to Dean.

“Dean,” Neville said, approaching the other boy’s bed, “I hope you’re not angry, but I, um, accidentally looked in one of your drawing tablets.” Neville didn’t dare move until he could see how Dean would react.

“Yeah? That’s all right. I don’t mind,” Dean said absently.

“It was the one with the naked people. Having sex.” Neville blushed crimson as Dean looked up at him, staring intensely.

“It was that day I left it on my bed, wasn’t it?” said Dean nervously. He didn’t seem angry, but with Dean, it was hard to tell.

“Yeah. I thought maybe you were working on more Harriet Wheeler pictures and thought I’d just take a peek. Sorry.”

Dean puzzled for a moment, and then smiled shyly. “I haven’t traumatized you for life, have I? I mean, it’s just art.”

Neville forced himself to be courageous. “It’s good art. Very, um, grown-up.” In true Gryffindor fashion, he continued. “There was one, in particular, that I liked, and I, um, wrote a story to go with it. Do you want to read it?”

Dean looked amazed, but nodded his head. Neville still couldn’t tell if he was angry, but he handed the parchment to Dean anyway and went to sit nervously on the edge of his own bed while Dean read it.

Neville wasn’t sure how to interpret the smile on Dean’s face as he read the story. After Dean finished, he stood up and rummaged for the tablet that held his erotic drawings. He flipped through the pages until he landed on the picture that Neville had used as his inspiration.

“It was this one, wasn’t it?” asked Dean.

“Yeah,” croaked Neville. Why hadn’t Dean said anything? He was always quick with a word of praise for Neville’s other stories. Had it been horrible?

Dean brought the tablet over to Neville’s bed and sat down next to him. “It’s actually rather flattering that you wrote a story about one of my pictures,” he said. “But, well, it’s sort of obvious that you’re writing about something you’ve never experienced.” Seeing the disappointment on Neville’s face, he continued, “Don’t get me wrong, Nev. It’s really hot. It’s just that if you had Nate taking Terry’s cock that far in his mouth, he’d definitely gag. And teeth anywhere near your balls like that is not terribly arousing.”

Neville blushed again. “You must think I’m an idiot.”

“No I don’t,” said Dean. “I think you’re just inexperienced.” He paused. “I could show you…”

“You could—” Neville interrupted himself as he caught Dean’s eye, looking stunned. Then Dean licked his lips enticingly, leaving Neville speechless. Dean took this as permission, and began to unbutton Neville’s trousers. Though shocked, Neville couldn’t deny being interested in the offer.

“Take those off while I lock the door,” said Dean.

Not sure what else to do, Neville stripped quickly and pulled the curtains closed on one side of his four-poster. He knew that Harry and Ron could quickly get past any locked door, and he didn’t fancy them watching him further his sex education.

Dean was naked when he climbed up on the bed next to Neville. His cock was just as hard as Neville’s, but larger and definitely intimidating. Neville hoped that Dean couldn’t tell he was nearly shaking from nerves.

“Let’s see. In your story, you had Terry lying on the bed, and Nate kneeling over him like this,” said Dean, calmly. “And you had them start with kissing. Do you want me to start with kissing?”

Neville panicked. Dean was going to act out the whole story, and he’d probably want the ending where Terry did the same thing to Nate… Then Dean asked him a question, and he had no idea what to say. “Whatever you w-want is f-fine,” he stuttered.

Dean leant down to kiss him firmly on the lips. It was sort of nice – a little weird, but good. “You had them kiss like that,” said Dean after he broke the kiss, “but a more experienced writer might have tried to describe this.” Dean kissed him again, but this time, he drove his tongue between Neville’s parted lips, thoroughly plundering his mouth.

Neville had no idea kissing felt like that! He kissed Dean back, trying not to be too embarrassed when their teeth clacked together several times. He was making mental notes on how he would describe the sensation, but he kept being distracted by Dean’s hands as they traveled lower across his pale skin.

Dean shifted so that he was kneeling between Neville’s parted legs. He lowered his body over Neville’s, and there was a spark of energy as their cock’s touched. Neville bit back a moan.

“You had Nate immediately sucking on Terry’s cock, but if I were drawing that scene, I’d have shown Nate taking his time, stopping to nibble and taste along the way.”

Dean followed up his comment with a demonstration. He slid his tongue over Neville’s jawline and sucked at the hollow of his neck. Kissing his way to one of Neville’s nipples, he toyed with it until it was as hard as a pebble. His hands made their way down to Neville’s hips, and he splayed his fingers out until he was caressing Neville’s arse.

“Ohhhh,” moaned Neville loudly, in spite of himself. His story definitely should have described something like this. He gasped as Dean dragged his tongue across Neville’s belly, flicking it into his navel before veering off toward his right leg. When the sensation stopped, he glanced down at Dean, who was smirking at him.

“Like this?” Dean asked with amusement.

“Bloody hell, yes,” Neville answered.

Neville could feel his cock twitching with anticipation. If Dean would just do that a little more to the right… And then suddenly, Dean took Neville’s cock into his mouth. Ugh! In his wildest imagination, Neville couldn’t have thought to write something this brilliant. He had no more blood in his brain; it had all pooled in his groin, and he was hard as stone. Dean’s lips rode his shaft, sucking as he pulled out and ending each stroke with a swirl of his tongue on the tip.

Neville was going to come soon, and it hadn’t even been thirty seconds. But with all the sensations bombarding his cock, he had no idea how to hold off his orgasm. Just as he was about to give up trying, Dean stopped.

“You see, Neville,” he said, “if I took you in any farther than that – you know, all the way to your balls, then I’d be gagging each time. And you didn’t have Nate using his hands at all, but see how nice this is?”

Dean guided Neville’s cock back into his mouth and then slid his hand further down to cup and gently massage his balls. Neville’s hips thrust forward as he moved closer to the verge of climax, silently begging Dean to go harder and faster.

Neville shouted as his orgasm ripped through his body. His back arched and his toes curled into the bed. As the feeling passed, he could feel Dean still lapping at his softening cock, and a shiver passed through him. His breathing slowed, but his heart was still racing. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to move again.

Dean stretched out next to Neville as he began to calm down. It was awkward knowing what to do next, especially considering that Dean’s cock was pressing rather hard against his leg. Neville reached down and cautiously wrapped one hand around Dean’s shaft.

Dean’s eyes opened wide as Neville stroked him. “Mmm. I wasn’t expecting this, but if you’re offering, I won’t turn you down.”

“I don’t really know what I’m doing,” Neville muttered. He shifted his arm to a more comfortable position. “Is this all right?” Dean nodded.

Neville had thought about touching girls before, but it had never occurred to him that getting another boy off would be enjoyable. He liked the quiet moaning sounds and the hitching of Dean’s breath, especially when he twisted his wrist just so. Neville knew he wasn’t nearly as good at this as Dean, but he wasn’t hearing any complaints either. Though his wrist was getting tired, he sped up when he saw the tension mounting in Dean’s face.

He watched, wide-eyed, as Dean shot pearly strands across his hand. He felt a strange sense of pride knowing that he’d been responsible for the satisfied expression Dean was wearing. This was quickly replaced by self-consciousness that he was naked and had Dean’s spunk all over him.

“I guess I should rewrite my story, then,” he said awkwardly. He tried to nonchalantly wipe off his hand on the sheets.

“I suppose you could,” said Dean, “or you could try writing something else. There’s this one thing I drew that I’ve been wanting to try for ages, if you’re interested in some more inspiration. I’m sure Seamus would help us out. He’s very obliging that way.”

Neville blushed as he remembered the last drawing he’d seen in the tablet: the one with the man being fucked while giving another man a blow job. “Whatever you want,” replied Neville, his voice unnaturally high. “I can see I have loads to learn.”

As they dressed, Neville glanced at the rolls of parchment resting on top of his trunk, each one containing a carefully crafted adventure of one Harriet Wheeler. It was just as well that his series had been completed; he had a feeling that it was time for the formerly innocent Ned Longfellow to try his hand at something new.

 

_finis_


End file.
